Of Bright Eyes and Bloodstains
by The Golden City
Summary: "Sometimes there just isn't reality to doubt. This is the world and this is how it works, and I am so sorry you ever had to see any of it." Pewdiepie has been having some trouble with nightmares as of late and the best way to fix them would be to face the problem, Right? Well it probably would have been, had it not been a death sentence instead.
1. Prolouge

Have I officially lost the plot and started to write some Pewdiepie fan-fiction because I'm a fool that reads _**WAY**_ too deeply into stuff that isn't there?  
…Yes.  
Do I own Amnesia or Pewdiepie and the objects of his imagination?  
Fuck no.  
Is this an overused and slightly stale idea?  
You bet your sweet apples it is.

TRIGGER WARNING: Eh… nothin much.

* * *

"Minds that are ill at ease are agitated by both hope and fear."  
**Ovid**

* * *

His body jerked up, eyes snapping open to the familiar cloak of darkness shrouding the room around him. It took a moment, but he slowly loosened the death grip around his own neck and breathed in deeply, hands sticky with sweat against the clammy skin and prickly hairs. Carefully he brought his knees up to his chest and pressed his forehead into the groove between them and started to quell the erratic breathing and the violent jumping of his heart hammering away behind his ribs.

It didn't work. But it never worked, so it was hardly surprising. The fuzzy neon glow of the alarm clock would read 4:30 am, just as usual and he would just have to lie awake in bed for the next two hours, hyper vigilant and buzzing with adrenaline.

With a huff and a scrub of his hand against the hairs on his face he swung his legs out of bed and crept across the room, footsteps light so as not to wake the slender form still curled up under the blanket, her long caramel coloured hair fanned out around her head.

With quick movement he turned the kettle on and dumped some instant coffee grounds into a mug followed by way too much sugar to be healthy, but he didn't really care by that point, he needed something to keep him occupied for the next few hours, and drinking scalding sugary coffee until dawn streaked the blackened sweep of sky usually did it.

Boiling Water and milk joined the mixture in the cup and after an incident with a slippery teaspoon the steaming mug was placed on the table and a body in the chair close by.

It was just a game. The same sentence he had been hearing and uttering under his breath for the better part of the last month, until the words had mixed together and lost the meaning they were supposed to have. The numerous comments listed in ever increasing rows were only aggravating the issue like scratching a rash until it's raw and bleeding. He exhaled through shaky lips and forced his eyes open, shoving off the twisted and warped images he could only half remember fluttering behind his eyelids. It was just a game after all.

What he couldn't pick was when it had become something more than a game. When it had gone from a fun distraction that people enjoyed watching, too a vicious being looming on the edge of his conscious mind waiting for the lull of sleep to make its move. The game he had played so often now a nightmare that kept sleep at bay with slashing teeth. When he had to start re-watching his own footage to see what he had said was when he had first thought something was up. It had started off as something to draw more viewers in, casually picking up an object and having a conversation with it as if it were a real person. Giving it a distinct personality based on how it looked, what it could do or where it was. The conversations when they had started were usually dull and took effort to speak, but all too quickly it had become second nature as he slipped into the personas with ease. But now he wasn't the one directing the banter, it was the character of whatever object he had engaged. Watching the footage was like seeing himself speak in tongues, and he had no recollection of even switching voices or directing the flow of words. It was then he had started being woken up at all hours of the night drenched in a cold sweat and body quaking with the lingering traces of fear and mortal terror.

He chewed his lip and ran a fingertip around the rim off the coffee mug, quietly trying to organize the chaotic thoughts that were slamming into him from all directions. The whole situation was so crazy and he was so far out of his depth all he could do was avoid the damned game at all costs, and hope the nightmares he could only ever remember terrifying glimpses of would just fuck off and let him move on.

But everyone wanted more; his amnesia commentaries were apparently too fabulous. He let out a quiet chuckle and lifted the sweet coffee to his lips, swallowing it down and letting the warmth heat him pleasantly from the inside.

He didn't have to worry about it now. Here in the dimly lit room he could just relax and forget the little things that nipped at his heels in everyday life.

For now he could let himself relax and enjoy something as simple as a view of the stars through the window.

* * *

The faint glow dusted his face, eyes open and wary as they swept across the faintly lit landscape. His body was tense and poised, hands resting lightly on the windowsill but still at the ready in case something were to happen. His lips were pursed in a faint frown, brows drawn in close across his forehead as he watched on from between pulsating amber eyes. His breaths were light and steady, ears trains for the slightest movement as he waited.

Slowly the soft patter of footsteps started up down the end of the hallway, and his hand flittered instinctively to coil around the well-worn grip of his end of his weapon. As the soft steps grew closer he relinquished the grip and let his hand fall as the door creaked open slowly and shut with a soft click.

For a moment there was nothing but the fragile glass of silence between the two figures, waiting to be shattered by the hushed tones of a quiet word or two.

"Are you ok?"

The man at the window snorted at the quiet breathy question and turned with the faintest swish of his draping clothing, bright eyes narrowing into cynical slits. "I'm sure we all agreed at some point that what you just asked was a pointless question."

From the dim lit room a pair of shifting green eyes tilted down towards the floor, taking the faint light with them. "Sorry. I just can't think of anything else to say."

With a dismissive wave of his hand the man twisted until he was leaning on the wall, completely ignoring the land he had been eyeballing so intently only a short while ago. "Don't worry, you mustn't take it seriously, I'm just tired is all." He muttered.

"I know." The shorter man stated calmly. "You're worried about him."

A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he shook his head slowly, silky fabric tracing the back of his neck as he moved. "That transparent eh?" He asked.

With a shuffle of footsteps and the sound of a throat being cleared another question was tentatively pushed into the whispered conversation, "You said yourself that he's stopped playing, so why are you so worried?"

"Because he's an impulsive bastard." Was the simple reply, the thickly accented voice layered with concern and bitterness. "And we don't know what he might to next, or what the outcome is going to be."

The shorter man pursed his lips and took a step forward as his companion turned back to the window. "We do know. We'll all be there to-"

He visibly flinched and spat out a single word. "No."

"No?"

"No, were not risking his mental health in this."

The pursed lips turned into a full on scowl. "So you'd rather risk his _mortality?!_" The words were dripping with bitterness and sarcasm, the faintly lit eyes narrowing to cold chips of emerald green. "Projections can only do so much, but you already knew this."

There was a shaky exhale, and his head tilted away from the window letting the pale glow outline the sharp features. "I'm sorry."

The sneer softened and the green eyes opened a little wider as they breathed In slowly and deeply, collecting himself together before speaking again. "It's going to be worse for him no matter what happens, and they're going to be rigging it against him more and more every time he does something right. He might die, and you'd lose yourself again if he did."

There was a moment of silence as the sentence hung heavy in the air.

"I'm only looking out for you." He stated calmly, arms up in a non-threatening gesture as he back up a few steps before turning and walking out of the room with the same quiet footsteps he entered with.

As the door clicked itself close the remaining man pressed his forehead against the cold, misted glass and closed his bright amber eyes with a quiet murmur. "With any luck he'll never come close."


	2. Chapter 2

"To him who is in fear everything rustles."  
**Sophocles**

* * *

"I'm going now."

At the words he snapped his eyes open and rolled over, grasping at the fabric of the couch to avoid falling straight onto the carpet. He knew she could probably see from where she was standing in the doorframe the bags under his eyes, but he tried to look alert anyway, if not just for the sake of keeping up the charade that he was absolutely fine. He pouted as she crossed the room to wrap her arms around his neck in a tight embrace. "I'm going to miss you." He said, voice quiet and childish.

Marzia laughed, squeezing him once more before letting go, eyes light with excitement. "You'll be fine," She assured him, "Its only one week with the girls, Just don't burn the house down!"

"If I do will you come back sooner?"

"_FELIX!_"

He laughed, trailing behind her towards the door and the taxi waiting outside. "I won't, scouts honour."

She turned on her heel and shot him a sceptical look. "You never were a scout."

The swede grinned as she walked away, leaning on the open doorframe as he called out, "So you'll just have to trust me on this!"

The roller suitcase was safely tucked into the boot of the taxi and the Italian girl climbed in the backseat, did up her seatbelt and waved from behind the glass as it pulled away from the curb with a growl and drove off down the street.

He stood there in the cool morning air for a little longer, letting his breath condense into warm clouds in front of his parted lips as he stared into the fog shielding the hills on the horizon with a detached interest. He really was going to miss Marzia, it may have only been one week, but the house they shared would be so quiet without her laughing and fussing over the next few days. It got quiet if she even just went out to the supermarket, like the house itself was mourning her absence and waiting impatiently for her to come back with quiet creaks and groans. He patted the doorframe with a smile, stepping back inside off the cold concrete onto the worn carpet. "It's ok buddy. One week's all."

A bark caught his attention and he scoffed. "What? You've never seen a guy talk to a house before?"

The pug blinked up at him before scratching at his foot and huffing. A moment later she was in the air and pressed against his chest as he slumped back onto the couch with a sigh. "Yeah yeah." Maya looked faintly startled as her owner held her up, obviously not expecting this. "You're such a bossy lil thing huh?" he chuckled, bringing her back to his chest. The warm weight was soothing, as he let his hand drift idly through the soft fur, feeling the steady rise and fall of her chest.

Last night he'd made a decision, and it wasn't going to be one he backed out of. Amnesia was just a game, and nightmares were just nightmares and god fucking damn it if he didn't get a good night's sleep soon he was going to cry. The only way to truly conquer fear is to face it, and as he eyed up his computer from where he sat he could almost taste the feeling of regretting this decision he would surely be faced with later. But the decision had been made, and he wasn't going to take the coward's way out this time.

"What do you think?" He questioned, looking down at the content looking animal. She made a funny grunting noise, but other than that didn't seem to have much too say on the matter.

Felix frowned, lips turning down in the corners and brows furrowing. "The longer you leave it the worse it's going to seem." He told himself, adopting a strict tone of voice in the hope it would spur him into action. And funnily enough it did.

Placing the now indignant pug on the floor he crossed over and powered up his computer, watching blankly as the black boot-up screen appeared. His swallowed, and quickly decided he needed a glass of water if his throat and mouth were actually that dry.

The water was cool and refreshing as he tipped it back in time to hear the booming jingle to let him know the computer was ready to use. He jumped at the sound and mentally berated himself as water splashed up onto his nose, dripping off it annoyingly. Rubbing his arm across his nose he walked back to the gaming station he had set up and sat down.

Inhale, exhale. The key to staying calm was in breathing, or at least that's what the people online had said. "Okay." He breathed, dragging the word out as he started riffling through his document folders looking for the game. "It's okay, this is good. Mostly there." His knee was jiggling up and down so he forced his heel down into the floor, happy enough to keep on rambling. "Just a little bit more. You don't have to play much, just a little." Clicking through the icons he located the download, and inhaling deeply he held it and double clicked on the icon. The screen was over taken by the usual back start up screen and the You-Tuber realized he wasn't wearing his headphones as he fumbled with them and eventually managed to secure them over his ears. "Right. Good, this is great, we're doing well here."

He could briefly hear Maya whine behind him before the roaring of the game sound picked up drowned her out. He wondered briefly if she was maybe hungry, but then remembered filling up her bowl with biscuits and just decided to shrug it off as the menu lit up his screen. The droning muted tones started to filter through, and his leg started moving up and down again of its own accord. He flexed his fingers and settled them back on the mouse with a deliberate exhale and clicked into the custom stories he had downloaded. There were a fair number lined up, mostly from before the nightmares started and when he had been eager to play most of them. Now he bit his lip and scrolled quickly though them, ignoring any titles that struck out in his memory as being called 'horrifying' or 'absurdly scary.'

Eventually, after cycling though the names a few times he settled on what he recalled was supposed to be a rather short custom story that wasn't absolutely drenched in jump-scares. It was entitled 'Hapsburg Manor' and was apparently made by some person with a ridiculously complex online profile. The summary was pretty brief as well, and it seemed like it was basically the same as most linear amnesia games with the general idea being 'you wake up with no memory, blah blah blah, escape the castle/manor/mansion/dungeon etcetera.'

He was starting to feel a bit lightheaded, now regretting not bringing a glass of water with him. It was like there wasn't enough oxygen in the air, and his heart was already thrumming away inside his chest at a rate that was far faster than usual.

And then, believe it or not, was when things started to go downhill.

He set out to start the game, screen fading into blackness as it prepared to load. The air got thinner. He could have sworn it had anyway, as he gasped in as much of it as he could, but it still wasn't enough. His skin was getting uncomfortably hot and his fingers started to tremble from where they were resting on the keyboard. Dizzyness swept in and he lurched off the chair with the sudden urge to vomit, hitting the floor hard as his headphones were knocked off and clattered noisily onto the ground. He retched twice, nothing coming up before he collapsed as his whole arm was knocked away into a fit. His skin was on fire, and his ears were being increasingly assaulted by a high pitched shriek that got louder and louder and louder. He couldn't breathe, leg starting to fit as well, dots swimming in his vision. Maya was barking, and he was screaming, or was he? All he could feel was his horrible exploding pain echoing from his skull and this terrible numbness infiltrating the rest of his body. His chest was heaving and his stomach was churning and his body was going up in flames. The noise got ever louder, now loud enough to deafen and his head was being beaten in with a lead brick.

'_I'm dying aren't I?' _was the last though he had before blackness swept over his vision and left him slumped against the floor.

The computer hummed away quietly, the character on the screen breathing heavily and standing ready in a bedroom, waiting input that wasn't going to come anytime soon.

* * *

It came as a shock, one minute he was mixing chemicals and the next he was on the floor, clutching his skull and doubling over in pain. He sank his teeth deep into his bottom lip, hands knotting in his hair as a piercing ringing sound smashed into his head.

Slowly the noise faded, and the ringing pain was replaced with sharp twinges of pain and a burning metallic taste in his mouth.

"What the fuck was that!"

He leant over and spat onto the floor, blood and saliva mingling against the stones and he grimaced, running his tongue over the deep bloody grooves his teeth had gouged into his lip. "You say that like you think I know."

Another man was slowly standing from where he had been sent sprawling when the ground had suddenly and without warning lurched sideways. As he brushed his clothes down he shrugged and smirked. "Good point, seeing as you never seem to know anything of actual use."

He felt himself bristling. "Didn't anyone ever tell you-"

"If you don't have anything nice to say don't say anything at all?"

He smiled a thin, bloody teeth baring grin that didn't reach his eyes. "Don't piss off the guy who could burn you alive in your sleep."

The other paused, midway through putting his chair back up and turned to give him a cocky look. "You're bluffing."

Rising gracefully from the floor he swiped a clean test-tube off the shelf and tossed it between his hands. "Really? Because you seem awful ready to take that risk."

He sat back down into his chair, and propped his feet up on the worn and bloodied table, staring his down from across the room. "I'm an asset, why would you kill me?"

"Liability is the word you are looking for; you're unpredictable and change sides at the drop of a hat. No sense of loyalty or common decency – you carve up bodies for fucks sake." He grasped his broken lip in one hand and hissing started to squeeze it over the test tube, collecting the blood that dripped from the gashes.

He laughed, tossing his head back and rocking his chair onto its hind legs. "Not that kind of asset."

Pausing in his blood collecting he shot the reclining man a dirty look witch only made him laugh again.

"What can I say, I'm practically a whore and you're a charismatic bastard with a power complex. There's no shame in that, we're all friends here right?" His eyes were half lidded as he lent against the table top, fingers tracing deep grooves in the wood.

Grunting he released his lip and studied the blood in the vial closely. "The very best of friends." He stated sarcastically.

His blood was clinging to the glass on the sides of the tube, the colour a vibrant and extravagant red. The next question was whether or not to ice it or to let it coagulate. Letting it clot would be easier considering he couldn't be bothered trekking down to the water mains, and eventually he just placed it into a test-tube holder on the bench. Turning back to face his friend he let his brows furrow together. "What if it's him?"

One eyebrow crept up his face incredulously. "Then he just got better at throwing shit and our projections are fucking up."

"No! Not like that!" A broad grin was starting to show its self on his face, his fingers gripping the bench tightly as his eyes started to get ever darker. "What if it happened again? You've been hearing what's been getting everyone so worked up! Imagine!"

He rolled his eyes, again rocking the chair back onto its hind legs. "Sorry, my imagination is lacking. Imagine what exactly?"

He laughed, a bitter, dark laugh. "Imagine the looks on their faces if he died.


End file.
